Our Lady Love
by 9emilylime9
Summary: Fitzwilliam Darcy Jr. is the captain's son on the wealthy pirate vessel Our Lady Love, named for his now deceased mother. But when they capture a bitter enemy's daughter, they find that they have bitten off a little more than they can chew.
1. Capture

**AN: Greetings! I come in peace, and I bring sappy stories. You know you love me XOXOemilylime**

_Capture_

William stood stiffly next to his father. A breeze from the sea whipped his dark hair untidy, but he did not bother to rearrange it. He was too interested in the goings-on farther down the ship.

A relatively new crewmember was hoisting himself back aboard, leaving the wreckage of a once grand ship where he had previously stood.

"Captain?" he called once he had his own two feet back on the deck.

From the corner of his eye, William saw his father release the enormous wooden wheel of the vessel and stride up to the balcony of sorts that overlooked the large deck. He did not rush, but positively exuded elegance.

"What of the vessel?" he asked, just like he always did when they took down a new ship.

"Completely destroyed," he responded. Before the captain replied, the crewman added, "Two survivors."

"Bring them aboard," responded the captain. The crewman nodded, motioned for several men to follow and hurried out of sight.

Within seconds a ratty-looking man scurried onto the deck untidily, as if he was very unaccustomed to the way the ship tossed in the sea. He was saying something in a rapid voice that William could tell was dripping with humble praise. What he was saying was unclear, but by the way that the burly men seemed to recoil from him left little to the imagination. William smirked.

There was a lot of noise on the deck. People were doing their usual chores, and even more were just standing about the ship, waiting around for a share of any gold that might be plundered. But William had never heard anything quite like the noise that now pierced the atmosphere. He winced as the distinctly feminine scream washed over him, and he saw many of the crew actually clapping their hands over their ears.

The source of the noise was soon revealed. The four members of the crew who had been dispatched onto the ship were now hauling a screeching young woman onto the deck. She was clearly fighting tooth and nail against them, but they had her under relative control. All she could really do was madly toss her head and try to squirm out of the vice-grip in which they held her arms. William's smirk broadened when he noticed what she was wearing. A beautifully embroidered yellow silk dress, with her auburn hair piled up in curls that were starting to fall past her shoulders in her desperation. He snorted. She was still holding a matching lace fan. Typical upper class woman.

The crewmembers threw her onto the deck and backed away, making sure that she didn't try to run. But where could she escape to? William wondered. The same notion appeared to occur to her, because she didn't try to run.

The blonde first mate, who was standing to the right of William's father, turned toward him.

"Darcy, could that be a daughter of his?" he asked. Captain Darcy's lips parted to release the word, "Possibly," before closing again. He was examining the girl intently.

A handsome man that William recognized as his friend Charles approached the girl.

"What is your name?" he asked slowly and kindly.

The girl just stared blankly at him.

"Your name?" Charles asked again.

The girl just blinked at him for several moments. Then she said, "Je ne parle pas anglais," in a haughty voice.

A monster of a man then walked from the crowd and shoved Charles aside. He lowered himself to the girl's level and asked her the same question in broken French.

She just stared blankly at him.

Infuriated, the oaf slapped her with one of his meaty hands.

William could just barely make out an expression beyond shocked on her face. In fact, she looked infuriated. Angrier than any woman he had ever seen.

She stood up as tall as she could and slapped the man back, fan in hand. He staggered from the blow.

"Your French is terrible," she declared in perfect English.

The man whirled around and seized her petite neck.

"Your name," he growled, lifting her a good foot off the ground.

"Elizabeth Bennett," she gasped, after unsuccessfully trying to kick him.

He dropped her. She collapsed onto the deck. As she immediately attempted to right herself, several crewmen seized her. Charles turned to the captain with a perplexed look on his face.

"Your orders, sir?" the young man asked.

"Lock her in my quarters for now," responded William's father.

The crewmen laughed and dragged Elizabeth down below the decks.

"What of the other, Captain?" asked Charles.

The other captive came groveling as if on cue.

"Please, my dearest master, my merciful savior," the squat man whimpered, throwing himself at Captain Darcy's feet. William's father remained unaffected.

"Your name?" he asked.

"Collins," he replied. "I manage the finances of the Bennett… er, family."

"Take him where Elizabeth is, son," he said, this time addressing William.

William started.

"Of course father," he replied stiffly. He strode towards the stairs that led to the below-decks and without ever needing to use force, guided the ever brown-nosing man right to his father's quarters. He quietly opened the door and escorted the man in, briefly catching Elizabeth's eyes before he turned on his heel and walked right back out the door, taking care to lock it once it was shut.

As night fell, Fitzwilliam Darcy Jr. returned to his bunks and eased himself onto a hammock, shutting his eyes and getting as comfortable as was possible on the canvas bed. The deep chocolate eyes of Elizabeth Bennett did not go away.


	2. Dearest Jane

**AN: Thanks for the reviews etc, they make me happy! I hope you all enjoy the rest of the story.**

_Dearest Jane_

Elizabeth watched the retreating and, she begrudgingly admitted, attractive figure of the tall, dark man that escorted Mr. Collins into the room.

She groaned to herself. If there was one man in the world that she would not want to share a small, confined space with, it was the man that was sitting across from her, grinning like Christmas had come early.

"Oh fair Lady Elizabeth," he practically drooled. It took all of her upbringing to not snort, or to give him a good whack, for that matter.

"It seems that we are in quite a predicament," she observed, standing up and turning her back on him. The captain's desk caught her eye.

"Oh yes indeed," Mr. Collins immediately agreed. "Though if I'm to be entirely honest, I cannot help see a silver lining to this whole affair."

Elizabeth didn't need to turn around to see the glimmer in his eyes. She was too busy rummaging through the drawers of the captain's desk to be bothered by his unsuccessful attempts at courting her. Her hands finally closed on what she wanted. Eagerly, she pulled parchment, a quill, and ink from underneath a compass and various other instruments that she didn't recognize. She turned around with her prizes in time to catch the last of the speech that he was proclaiming.

"… And so I can only hope that your father and he can make a peaceable agreement to free us."

He waited for her reply.

"The enmity is rooted too deep, I fear," said Elizabeth, hoping that she had paid enough attention to sufficiently answer him. "Not all men are as eager to please as you, Mr. Collins."

"Oh, rightfully said, Mademoiselle Bennett, but perhaps you are being a bit pessimistic? All great businessmen should be able to create a compromise."

"Not if their sole desire is to have a sword at the other's throat."

Mr. Collins looked shocked at such imagery being uttered by a lady. He made a very condescending harrumph before casting his eyes around for a place to sit. In the end, he settled for the floor.

Elizabeth sank into the captain's chair, seized the quill, and wrote, "Dear,"

But she did not know who to address her letter to. In all likelihood, it would not be sent, so writing to her father and mother would be quite pointless. She settled on her elder sister, Jane, her sole confidant. And thus decided, she wrote.

Dearest Jane,

Do not fear for me, as I know you are, for it pains me to think of your lovely face crumpled in worry. Mr. Collins and I are the sole survivors of an attack on one of our ships. I know not who is responsible, though I believe it to be the Darcy family. The ship has the name Our Lady Love, which I remember from father's stories. It's such an odd name for a ship that kills, isn't it? Oh, I remember the pure chaos of that attack. It's a wonder I endured it at all. Men with swords were everywhere. Goodness knows how Mr. Collins survived.

And then they burned the ship and took us captive, and here I sit, writing this letter to nobody with nobody save Mr. Collins to keep me company in this infernal prison of a room. Oh how I envy you, home in France. I could even tolerate mother if I could just be free again. Well, perhaps not yet, but the Lord only knows how long I will remain captive.

Love Always,

Elizabeth

She heard footsteps and hurriedly stuffed the letter and several other pieces of parchment down her corset. Mr. Collins didn't notice.

She half expected the tall man to reenter the room, but the footsteps just passed them by. Many footsteps came and went, but she and Mr. Collins were never visited.

* * *

"What do you make of this?" asked Charles. William shrugged. He regretted telling his friend about his hiding spot. Now he would need to fine a new one.

"Honestly, you must have an opinion, otherwise you would be at your father's side, not curled up in the crow's nest." Charles awkwardly climbed from the rope ladder into the wooden cup of a structure. He looked uneasy at such a height.

"I don't like to involve myself in politics," muttered William.

Charles snorted. "Then maybe you shouldn't have been born a Darcy."

"Being a Darcy is about good authority and instincts, not politics," snapped William.

"Ah, yes, but with the Bennetts, I hear that things are different," observed Charles.

William scoffed, "hardly. Though they were once our partners, that pact is now dissolved. We can take and burn as we choose once more."

"But why spare the survivors?"

"I do not know my father's mind. He may use them to locate more of the Bennett ships, or perhaps to withhold for a ransom."

"Why so hostile today?" mused Charles. William had no answer for him. He knew perfectly well what caused his mood. He had come up here to escape the ever-extending aura of Elizabeth Bennett. All the crew whispered rumors to each other at every chance, and if he came even close to the captain's quarters, he would smell the most tantalizing waft of her perfume. The smell made him sick with hate. He had been raised to loathe the family, the treacherous family who had nearly doomed them all, and here was a constant reminder of the painful stories. He winced. He didn't like dishonorable people.

"Will?" asked Charles again. William looked at him sourly, and said, "I hate the Bennetts." Charles shrugged and left him, descending the ladder from whence he had come. William sighed.


	3. Meals

**AN: Thanks everyone for liking this story! I know I'm being repetitive, but it feels great to know that people look forward to seeing you update. Speaking of which, I would have had this out earlier, but lo and behold, Thanksgiving and my crazy extended family locked me away from my laptop. The food was good, but after playing cards with cousins second grade and younger for hours upon hours, I was ready to leave. **

_Meals_

"Fitzwilliam!" boomed his father. Will winced. He turned away from his usual route to the mess hall and faced him.

"Before you begin your meal, bring something to Mademoiselle Bennett and her friend," said the captain. William nodded, turned on his heel, and resumed walking. Though, this time, he wore a frown.

Once he arrived at the mess hall, he sourly grabbed a tray and piled it high with food. He walked away again, this time to his father's quarters.

He unlocked the door with the tray held awkwardly in his hand, dreading seeing her again.

Both the occupants of the office looked up, wearing expressions of surprise. The man, Collins, immediately eyed the food. William focused on looking at him.

"So we're finally fed?" asked a scowling female voice. William didn't want to look at her. He stared intently at the food in his hands as he gruffly said, "Yes."

"Thank you monsieur, though perhaps a more prompt response would be preferable in the future. We are not animals in a zoo, not your companions," she reminded him. William shook his head to dispel the chiming of her light accent.

"Then if you agree so, I do not see how you could leave us a night and a morning without food. I beg you to promise in the future to-"

"I will not promise you anything, mademoiselle," he said, turning to glare at her. He remembered that he was still holding their lunch.

"I bid you good day," he said, stooping to set it down on the floor. He whisked himself out of the room, shutting the door with more force than strictly necessary. He locked it with relish.

* * *

Elizabeth glared at the man through the thick wooden door. She had never met someone so rude. Mr. Collins was already starting on their lunch, and she hastened to join him. She really was quite hungry.

When the food was gone, Elizabeth wandered to the captain's desk, a newfound habit of hers. She eyed the neatness knowingly; she had expected nothing less from the stiff man that stood at the captain's wheel.

Idly, she flipped through the tidy stack of papers in the upper left hand corner of the fine mahogany, studying a map here, and a navigation chart there. She had never seen a ship that had been to so many places. Her pinky traced longingly over a route to India. She wished she could go there, just to learn their ways and language.

She continued this perusal until she could not read with the sparse light that filtered through the porthole. She neatened the stack again, hoping that she wasn't doing anything particularly punishable. You never knew with pirates.

Ah yes, the lesson drilled into her so long ago. When her father had made a pact with what she believed was this very crew. They would trade, and accept stolen goods without the bat of an eye, and all was good and jolly.

Then, of course, pirates will be pirates.

As her father told her and her sisters as girls, there was one night many years ago when the Darcy family turned on them. It was brutal and unexpected, though her father cursed himself for not being prepared. Captain Darcy was just as dangerous, no matter how agreeable he seemed.

She moved to a wall as far away as possible from Mr. Collins, sank down to the floor and leaned her head against it. Maybe she could write another letter to Jane. Writing the last one had made her feel better. Perhaps she could sneak off and mail it when they reached the next port. She suddenly smiled. Or she would just sneak off. They couldn't be that far from France by the time that they needed to resupply. She could go home.

Her suddenly optimistic musings were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. That horrid man came back, clutching more food as if he were unaccustomed to trays. He certainly looked like he had been served the entirety of his life. He was clean, even at sea.

"No speech unless provoked, I see," she mused loudly, hoping that he would reply. Or at least look at her.

"No speech at all, mademoiselle," he answered curtly, setting down the tray and starting to make his exit.

She eyed him, trying to find some nonexistent emotion in his demeanor.

"What is your name?" she asked curiously. He froze before he made it to the door.

"Fitzwilliam," he said.

"And do you have a surname, Fitzwilliam?" she asked him, feeling very much like a frustrated schoolteacher.

He turned to look at her, his eyes more slashing than piercing.

"Darcy," he answered. She looked at him more curiously.

"Aren't you a little young to be the infamous captain of this ship?" she asked him.

"I'm not the captain. You refer to my father, mademoiselle," he said, attempting to at least appear polite. He wrenched his eyes from where they had drifted of their own accord, drinking in Elizabeth's creamy skin an inch at a time.

"Good night," he said, turning on his heel and slamming the door again like he had earlier that day.

Elizabeth shook her head and resolved to write another letter to Jane that morning. She curled up against the wall and shut her eyes, willing herself to sleep despite the discomfort.


	4. The First Mate

**AN: You guys (unless you have written a story) cannot fathom how cool I feel whenever somebody leaves a review or adds my story to their alert list. So I just can't stop thanking you all, considering this is my first story and I'm kind of naive when it comes to writing this stuff. I hope I'm not boring you all with the lack of action, so I decided to give you a treat. Something I wasn't planning on revealing until later. Enjoy :D.**

_The First Mate_

Time again to dine. William groaned. He had never noticed just how often humans had to eat until yesterday. Now instead of meals being a welcome break, they were more of a chore than fixing rigging, or even peeling potatoes.

As he made his way down to the mess hall, he met Charles.

"Darcy, what's gotten into your head?" asked the ever-friendly man. William sighed internally. He really didn't deserve a companion so amiable.

"I've been charged with feeding the mademoiselle," he muttered.

"Hardly a complaint," observed Charles at a slightly lower volume.

"Indeed it is. The effect that she has on me is frightening," said William.

"Effect?" inquired Charles.

"I-" began Darcy, before he hesitated. "Her eyes never leave my head." He spoke the words like he was admitting a shameful truth.

"Would you like me to take Mademoiselle Bennet her food today?" asked Charles quietly, watching William with genuine concern.

Darcy sighed in relief.

"How could I ever repay you?" he asked, feeling lighter in spirits already.

"The next time I capture a woman that I cannot stand, you may bring her food instead of me," grinned Charles.

Darcy shook his head knowingly. "Charles, if you find a woman that you cannot stand, I may throw you both a party and crown that woman queen of repulsiveness. You never see a single fault in people. It drives me mad sometimes."

"That is hardly true!" exclaimed Charles.

"Oh really?" asked William, "Can you name a single person that you do not like?"

Charles shifted uncomfortably. "But I'll bet I will find one," he eventually mumbled.

William shook his head. "Write me when you do, I wasn't joking about the party."

He and Charles laughed.

"Come, let's get some food. If the task is as grievous as you claim, I wish to get it done," said Charles with a hint of a laugh in his tone. Darcy followed him to the mess hall.

Elizabeth jolted awake from her almost unconsciousness. She hadn't slept a wink while aboard this infernal ship.

Dazed and overtired, she found the source of her sudden waking. There was another polite rap on the door.

"Come in," she called grumpily. She did not want to see that Darcy man again.

But a different man was easing himself into the room, carrying the customary heaping tray. He looked happier than Fitzwilliam Darcy, and though he was not as tall, he was almost as handsome.

When he had set the tray down, he straightened up, beaming. Though when his eyes fell on Elizabeth, his expression changed to concern.

"To whom do I have the pleasure of seeing?" she asked.

"Charles Bingley," said the man, advancing towards her, and holding out his hand for hers. She shook her head. She couldn't find the energy to move.

They both jumped at a very nasal sound. Elizabeth peered around the desk to see Mr. Collins fast asleep, and evidently snoring.

Charles chuckled. "Pleasant company I see."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"Has Mr. Darcy been relieved of his food-bringing duty?" she asked, not that she was complaining.

"I offered to do it today. He is one of my oldest friends," answered Charles.

"You like him?" asked Elizabeth.

"Oh yes, he is a very amiable companion, I find. Though he has been in a bit of a sour mood lately," he replied.

"I wonder why," muttered Elizabeth sarcastically.

Charles looked at her and shook his head slightly. "Though you may be the trigger, mademoiselle, I believe that he has been like that for a while, ever since his father looked over him in picking a first mate."

"He will not be captain?" gasped Elizabeth.

"No," answered Charles. "Though I fear Captain Darcy may just be taking his misery out on his son."

"Misery?"

"It's a tragic story. You see Captain Darcy loves his wife; the ship is named for their marriage, their love. But sixteen years ago, when young William was eight, she died giving birth to Georgiana, their second child. Captain Darcy lost his smile that day."

"So you believe that he blames his children?" asked Elizabeth.

"Oh, absolutely not," cried Charles, "Or at least not intentionally."

Elizabeth smiled. He reminded her of Jane.

"But what of your theory?" Elizabeth reminded him.

"As I said, it is certainly not intentional, and Mr. Wickham is quite amiable, perhaps our captain has other reasons," shrugged Charles.

"You refer to the first mate?" asked Elizabeth.

"Oh yes," replied Charles. "Mr. Wickham is a very well-bred man, he has no enemies here."

"Not even William Darcy?" asked Elizabeth curiously.

"They are old friends, he had known Mr. Wickham long before we first made our acquaintance. They are not enemies, though not quite friends, I daresay."

Charles looked at the clock on the wall and jumped.

"My goodness, Mademoiselle, I must be on my way. I apologize for such a rude exit."

"Think nothing of it," replied Elizabeth. "I wouldn't want to starve you for my sake."

Charles bowed to her in farewell and departed.

Elizabeth felt a little happier despite herself. She wanted to meet this Mr. Wickham.


	5. Damsel

**AN: Sorry this took me a while, I sort of have a lot of things going on... Well, actually, just school. But whatever. My teachers really like depriving me of sleep. I barely have time to finish my homework, let alone do something fun. But I digress, the chapter is here and a tad longer than usual. (Not to mention pretty action-packed). Enjoy :D.**

_Damsel_

"Honestly William, I can't see the harm," said Charles pointedly. Will grumbled.

"They deserve better than to rot away in their cell," Charles reminded him.

"Do they?" William asked scathingly.

Charles looked shocked.

"William, what has gotten into you?" he cried.

Darcy shrugged.

"They are perfectly accommodated at the moment, I see no point in changing that."

"Have you seen them, Will? Mademoiselle Bennet may be strong-willed, but she looks a fright. I would be surprised if she has managed to sleep at all over the past few days." Charles shuddered at the thought.

Darcy gritted his teeth.

"If you are so keen to see Mademoiselle Bennet out of her accommodations, perhaps you should ask Mr. Wickham to persuade my father."

Charles held up his hands. "I only ask for the sake of her health. I trust your judgment a hundred times more than I trust Mr. Wickham's."

"I'll take them their food today," Darcy said quietly.

"Suit yourself," said Charles.

* * *

William took a deep breath before entering the office. He regretted being so short with Charles. He hated how his assertiveness tended to get the better of him.

He opened the door hesitantly, but strode in with newfound importance. Before he could help himself, his eyes rested on Elizabeth. With a pang of remorse he realized that Charles was right. Her eyes had deep purple pockets underneath them, her hair was matted and lank, and her face looked gaunt, though her eyes had not lost their fire. Without permission, his heart yearned to help her.

Before he realized that he had opened his mouth, he said, "I'm sorry."

She looked at him, clearly full of loathing. He all but dropped the tray of food and ran out of the room, forgetting to lock the door behind him in his embarrassment.

Elizabeth leaned her head back against the wall. She felt slightly nauseous as she gazed at the food. She wasn't hungry anymore. And she wouldn't be, so long as the food was the charity of Fitzwilliam Darcy. She curled into a ball on the floor and tried to drift into a restful sleep, despite her discomfort.

Some fruitless hours later, she heard two booming voices outside her cell. They boasted of this and that quite loudly. She grumbled to herself, rubbing her eyes. It was as if the world itself were conspiring against her need for sleep.

After several frustrating minutes, she heard a thunk against the door, a low voice grumbled, and a pair of footsteps clunked away, their sound getting fainter and fainter. Surely it must almost be dinnertime. Her stomach rumbled on cue.

She heard the doorknob turn and looked up, hoping to see Charles again. He was far preferable company to Mr. Darcy.

But it was neither of those two that walked into the room. He took care to close the door quietly, before turning around. She studied his face, feeling her hope drain out of her. Her indifference quickly became apprehension when she noticed that there was no tray of food in his hands.

It was the meaty man that had slapped her on the deck. He staggered forward, looking intoxicated.

"Hello m'dear," he said, a little slurred. "Not locked up tonigh' are we?"

"Je ne sais pas ce que tu aies dit," she responded quickly.

"There's the French fire," he grinned oafishly. "Otherwise ye'd be no more'n an English wench."

She looked at him hatefully.

"We all saw yeh speak English, kitty," he said. He wasn't as drunk as she had originally thought. This worried her.

"Yes," she said, her eyes narrowing.

"Well look-ee 'ere 'en, I got 'er to talk!" he said triumphantly. "The second time, to boot."

She cautiously stood up. "Go away," she hissed, hoping to scare him off.

To her dismay, it didn't work. It only seemed to encourage him.

"So we 'ave a fighter," he said gleefully.

"Only if it's brought out in me," she muttered.

He blinked then roared with laughter.

"En't you the prettiest little flame?" he chortled. He made to grab her, but she ducked out of his way.

"Mr. Collins!" she cried urgently, trying to rouse the crumpled form that she had nearly tripped over.

The nameless behemoth of a man shook his head at her and lunged again, this time trapping her against the opposite wall. She writhed and squirmed to no avail, twisting her head madly. She called Mr. Collins a few more times, desperate. The man started to stir.

She could smell the alcohol on her attacker's breath, and feel his head getting closer to her own. Desperately, she kicked at him until she felt one of her blind blows hit home. The man grunted in pain and fell over while she managed to scramble away from him. She felt her dress catch on something, but she only pulled away from him harder. She ignored the rip that she heard.

"My, my lady-!" exclaimed Mr. Collins. From the corner of her eye she saw the half-awake man scrambling.

Before she could stagger to her feet, much less reply, the man came at her again. She half-dodged him, but one of his hands caught the material of her dress on the side. She resisted his pull with all the strength that she could muster.

"Dear lord, Mr. Collins, please help!" she cried.

The rat-like man twitched. "I-I-" he staggered further back, behind the captain's desk. Elizabeth's heart fell and she pulled harder until she heard another rip. She would not scream, though. She refused to play damsel to Fitzwilliam Darcy.

"Vas ailleurs, bastard!" she cried instinctively. She kicked him again and dragged herself as far away as she could manage.

* * *

"Did you hear that, William?" asked Charles, cocking his head to the side. He shifted the food tray's weight to his other arm.

"Hear what?" asked Darcy gruffly.

"That banging coming from Mademoiselle Bennet's room," said Charles.

William cocked his head and listened intently. Yes, he heard something. The sound of clumsy moving, and then an unmistakable feminine voice that made his blood go cold.

As if on autopilot, he picked up his pace, first speedily walking, and then half-jogging. Charles tailed him, looking seriously concerned.

Darcy heard another quipping of the female voice, saying something loud and unmistakably in French. He flung open the door without thinking to find a heavyset crewman crawling towards Elizabeth Bennet. The latter looked terrified.

Suddenly angrier than he had ever been in his life, Darcy seized the crewman by the scruff of his neck and threw him against the opposite wall.

He glowered over the man for a second before saying in a voice bubbling with his nearly uncontrollable anger, "Get out."

The man whimpered. Darcy wrinkled his nose when he smelled the alcohol on his breath.

"And don't you ever think to touch Mademoiselle Bennet again," William finished, stepping back to let the man leave.

The crewman ran out as fast as he could.

William surveyed Elizabeth. She was still sitting on the floor with a large rip in her skirt and a chunk taken out of the side of her dress.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Never been better," she said, meeting his smoldering gaze with one of her own.

"Did he-?" she shook her head.

"Good day then."

And then he left. Charles looked at her apologetically before delicately handing her the tray of food.

She dug in, ravenous. Mr. Collins was still cowering in the corner.

**AN: God, I know, so cliche. But it had to happen, it's human nature.**


	6. Property

**AN: Ugh, I'm sorry that it's taking me so long to update, but I promise that great things are to come. Speaking of things to come, I'm toying with an idea for an Alice/Jasper story (just them). It popped into my head last week while I was watching Mythbusters, and has been sitting there maturing ever since. It doesn't have much of a plot yet, and as you may or may not know, I really like my plots to be nice a complicated, but I think it's worth seriously thinking about. What do you guys think? **

**PS: Reviews rock my world then guilt trip me into writing faster.**

_Property_

William shifted nervously. He had never felt completely comfortable around his father.

"Fitzwilliam, I am told that a crewman attempted to assault Mademoiselle Bennet earlier, and that you prevented him. Am I mistaken?"

William winced. He was always Fitzwilliam to his father, never 'William,' nor 'Will,' and Lord knew, never 'son.'

"No, Father," he replied. He looked up to see if there was any emotion in the man's eyes. He saw nothing.

"It is evident that our guests are not as safe as I hoped," began Captain Darcy.

"Might I suggest a change of accommodations?" asked Mr. Wickham as Will opened his mouth to reply. The man had materialized out of nowhere.

"Yes, George, that solution seems to be the best," said Captain Darcy. Will mashed his mouth shut. His father turned to him, "Fitzwilliam, have Charles help you move Mademoiselle Bennet and Mr. Collins to a more secure room."

William forced a smile and immediately walked away.

* * *

Elizabeth winced as another sharp rap on the door rang in her ears. She tried to sit up but wobbled in her hammock. Foggy memories from the previous night washed over her, sating her momentary confusion.

Ah yes, Darcy and Charles had taken them to another room. She had fallen into the hammock almost immediately; she could count the hours of sleep that she had managed to scrounge in that office on one hand.

"Come in!" she called, hoping that she could pass for presentable.

A blonde man that she had only seen from afar quietly walked in the room. His smile was charming, and his blue eyes were kind. They were like sapphires on his handsome face.

He held out his hand for hers. Without hesitation, she let him kiss it.

"Good evening Mademoiselle Bennet," he said, eyes twinkling. "I do not believe that we have met. George Wickham, at your service." He did a little bow.

She blushed a little despite herself. "I apologize in advance for my appearance. I imagine I look a fright."

"Au contraire," he said. "You look beautiful."

She raised an eyebrow. "You speak French?" she asked.

Mr. Wickham chuckled. "Alas, how I wish I could. I only know the phrase."

She smiled.

Wickham looked around her, furrowing his eyebrows.

"My dear Mademoiselle, have you been unable to leave the confines of your rooms since we have taken you aboard?" he asked with sudden concern.

"No," she answered, frowning. She started at Mr. Collins' snore.

He shook his head sadly.

"I do not believe that such a kindred spirit as yourself should be locked away here. I will not stand for it. You should be able to roam the ship as you please."

"I believe that this is more of a precaution for our safety, than to confine us," said Elizabeth.

Wickham shook his head. "Untrue. Captain Darcy merely wishes to detain you until further notice. He doesn't trust you."

"Because I am a Bennet?" she asked.

"Precisely," answered Wickham. "It appears that the tension between your families is still at its greatest point."

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. "But the Darcys turned on us years ago, when I was a mere toddler. How could there still be such hatred on Captain Darcy's part when it was he that disrupted the dormancy of our relationship?"

"It's funny, Mademoiselle, they tell a different story here on the ship," said Wickham, looking at her curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"We were under the impression that it was your family who dishonored our agreement," he said, studying her reaction.

Elizabeth looked shocked.

"Never in a thousand years would my father attack a ship that we trade with!" she cried.

Wickham held up his hands. "Don't kill the messenger," he said soothingly.

"Yet how could Captain Darcy still hold such a serious grudge? I doubt that even my father-"

But Wickham was shaking his head.

"The attack, from whomever it came, was not the only thing to spark my captain's rage. He discovered that some of his property had been stolen almost immediately after."

Elizabeth looked confused. "But what does that have to do with the attack?"

"Everything," said Wickham, his eyes boring into hers. "At least according to Captain Darcy. It seems as though your family has taken something dear to him."

Elizabeth looked puzzled. "But what matters that much?" she asked.

Wickham shrugged. "I was never told. Though I believe it to be of great value. It's irreplaceable."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I cannot recall a thing in our manor that was neither bought nor a gift. We are an honest family, though we deal with dishonest people."

Wickham examined her for a moment, trying to see if she was speaking the truth, she supposed. At last he smiled again.

"Thank you Mademoisell Bennet. Get some rest."

She returned his smile as he turned on his heel and gently shut the door.


	7. En Guarde

**AN: I love you, yes you, reading this story, right here, right now. Because that means that you've liked chapters 1-6 and are eager for more. And that flatters me. Which brings me to my next announcement. You see, I had the beginnings of an Alice/Jasper story in my head, and then after I mentioned it in the previous chapter, I got another. So I took a leaf out of another author's book and posted a poll on my page with the summaries of the stories for you to vote on. I'll write them both, but I just need to write one first. And that's where you guys come in. So please visit my page and vote! **

_En Guarde_

Elizabeth stretched and sighed in contentment. She had no idea how long she had been asleep, but she finally felt rested. For the first time, she really surveyed her new room. There was a desk and a mirror pushed awkwardly against the walls, and her hammock was underneath Mr. Collins' and crammed in the far corner of the room. It wasn't very roomy, but it wasn't bad. She couldn't complain.

She got to her feet with some difficulty as her hammock proved tricky to dismount, but she was most intrigued with the contents of the desk. She hoped that there were enough paper, quills, and ink for her to continue writing to Jane.

When she was satisfied with the contents, she sat down and wrote once more:

_Dearest Jane,_

_I have lost track of the days that I have been aboard, but I still hope that you are not worried. I am fine. I have a bed to sleep in, three proper meals a day, and Mr. Collins to keep me company (though the last I would not categorize as a blessing)._

_It's so interesting being on a pirate ship, even though I get to see none of it. Several men have come by, the captain's son, his friend, and the first mate, no less. The former was rather rude. The latter was far more amiable. I do not blame the captain for choosing him as his first mate as opposed to his own son, though I gather that it is quite the scandal._

_The third man that I have met was very charming and handsome. He reminds me of you, Jane, you both are so sweet and compassionate. I wish you could meet him._

_I have also learned some rather alarming news. The Darcy's did not betray our agreement like father told us. In fact, they believe it was us who were the dishonorable ones. Perhaps there is something more sinister afoot. I shudder to think of an adversary powerful enough to fool us both._

_Love,_

_Elizabeth_

She drummed her fingers on the desk, waiting for the ink to dry. She had wondered if she should include her assault, but had ultimately decided against it. Jane always saw the good in men, never any bad, and such news would be quite a shock. She would hate to do that to her sister.

She folded up the letter and tucked it with the other two into her corset for safekeeping. She began drumming her fingers on the desk again. Oh how she wished for a book.

She had nearly resorted to waking Mr. Collins when a soft knock resounded in the room. Curiously, she stood up and called, "Come in!"

To her delight, it was Charles who opened the door. She smiled so that she was mirroring his expression.

"My dear Mademoiselle, I come with happy news. The captain has just given word at the recommendation of Mr. Wickham to allow you to wander about the ship at your own leisure," he said.

"You do not jest?" she asked, now very excited.

Charles shook his head. "I have actually come to escort you to the deck. My captain believes that you are in want of some fresh air and exercise."

"Your captain is an intelligent man," observed Elizabeth. Charles offered her his arm and she took it.

They twisted and turned through several corridors on the ship until they at last ascended into the light of the early afternoon.

Charles released Elizabeth and she threw her head back, simply marveling at the sea scent in the air and allowing the mild wind to whip at her hair.

Charles laughed. "Would you care to observe our sparring practice?" he asked kindly. "It will keep you out of the way."

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes alight with curiosity.

Charles laughed again and towed her to a far corner of the ship, where no men were busy mopping the deck or pulling ropes.

A rugged-looking man was practicing strokes alone with a wooden cutlass. He looked very skilled and totally immersed in his own imaginary battle.

Charles shook his head at this sight and called out, "Colonel!"

The man looked up and broke into a grin.

"Who's the pretty lady Charles? You know the captain doesn't like us smuggling girlies on board," he chided, dropping his sword to his side.

"Meet Mademoiselle Elizabeth Bennet," responded Charles, unaffected.

The rugged man raised his eyebrows. "She's allowed to be viewed?" he asked half sarcastically.

"Only to a privileged few," she responded, rolling her eyes.

At this the man threw back his head and laughed aloud.

"Beautiful, rich, and clever," he sighed, shaking his head, "I wish every girl in England were like you. Then finding myself a bride would be an activity of leisure."

"And what makes you so sure they'd say yes?" asked Elizabeth.

The man chuckled again. "And what a tongue," he mused.

"Did Mr. Bingley call you Colonel?" asked Elizabeth.

He waived his hand as if sweeping away the notion.

"A silly nickname," he said. "They said that I acted like a colonel, and the name regretfully stuck. I suppose I ought to introduce myself to you as Colonel Fitzwilliam now, to avoid the rest of the crew confusing you."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam sounds better than just Mr. Fitzwilliam," said Elizabeth pointedly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes.

"And thus my real title is lost," he said mournfully.

She laughed.

The Colonel now turned to Charles, who had watched the entire exchange with an amused expression on his face.

"Shall we practice, Charles?" he asked.

"Absolutely," said Charles, grinning. "Let's give her a show."

The Colonel nodded solemnly.

Charles went to pick up another wooden cutlass from the small pile towards the edge of the ship and turned to face Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"En guarde!" said the Colonel, flourishing his weapon very elaborately.

"I will never understand how you can be considered skilled if all that you learn are simple tricks," said Charles, shaking his head. He raised his weapon.

The Colonel laughed and slashed, which Charles easily blocked. Then Charles struck at him.

Their fight was short but well matched, with the Colonel finally closing in and halting his sword on a lucky strike to the neck. Charles sighed.

"Next time the victory will be mine," he said.

"I refuse to allow that," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam with a wolfish grin.

"May I try?" asked Elizabeth. Her own father had practiced similarly, and she had badgered him until he tutored her. She hid a knowing smirk as the men pondered.

"Here Mademoiselle, perhaps the Colonel can educate you on the proper handling of a sword," said Charles at last, handing her his weapon tip-down, as if she could hurt somebody by simply holding the blunt wooden stick. She took it daintily.

"Now here," said the Colonel, swooping in to correct her grip. "Shall we take a practice swing?"

Elizabeth laughed. "I'll have none of that nonsense."

The Colonel shook his head knowingly. "This is not as easy a sport as it may appear. Practice is a grace from God."

Something out of Elizabeth's line of sight caught his eye.

"And here you may have your proof," he said, before calling, "Will! Come practice!"

Elizabeth could have sworn she heard a grumpy sigh before the unmistakable voice of William Darcy called out behind her, "Not if I must hand your manhood back to you again, cousin."

"Then perhaps you ought to put the eager Mademoiselle Bennet in her place?" suggested the Colonel.

Elizabeth turned to see him shaking his head. "Have you gone and lost to the lady, then Colonel?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam blanched. "Never in a thousand years!" he proclaimed.

"Though he refuses to even attempt," said Elizabeth, grinning slyly.

William chuckled and strode forward, plucking the sword from his cousin's hands.

"Very well, Mademoiselle. Perhaps this will teach you to think twice before you boast," he said, meeting her eyes with a very serious glare that countered his jesting tone.

Elizabeth felt her blood begin to boil. How dare he insult her?

She pulled her face into a taunting smile.

"Unlike you, I do not feel the need to pretend to be flawless. In fact, I only wish that I were able to check your nauseatingly swollen head."

Darcy raised his eyebrows. "Such strong words for a woman without skill."

"I said nothing of the sort," she said, feeling his voice enrage her. She took a defensive stance. "Begin?" she offered in an acidic tone.

Darcy shrugged and lazily struck at her. She wasn't entirely sure of her actions, but she did her best to be defensive. Block every blow, she chanted to herself, block, or this overconfident, rude man will have all the more reason to gloat.

He was strong, quick, and undoubtedly a powerful adversary, but she somehow held on. She began to gain confidence, striking at his chest, his head, stabbing at him then blocking his repost. Then one of her swings hit. Not hard, but suddenly she was staring at her sword on his neck, gently nudging the pulsing artery.

The Colonel let out a low appreciative whistle.

Elizabeth smiled, her eyes sparkling.

"That's for your insolence," she said, and dropped her sword.

Will was speechless.

**PS: Review if you love me XD.**


	8. Spoiled

**AN: **

**You- Jeez, Em, where the hell have you been? It's been HOW MANY MONTHS?**

**Me- Oh god, sorry, sorry, sorry, I had too much crap to do and all my free writing time has been devoted to my novel-in-progress.**

**You- That's not acceptable, missy. I've been on tenterhooks so long it's been rubbing me raw.**

**Me- Okay, okay. I'll make up for this, I SWEAR. You'll have four more chapters by Sunday, I promise.**

**You- Nuh-uh. Not gonna cut it**

**Me- Well, how about I write another story? The one I polled for (though only one person voted for it). Or, even better, I'll write both!**

**You- Ugh. There are only so many Twilight fanfictions that one can bear. Who do you think I AM?**

**Me- Well, I mean, it's still in the developing process... but...**

**You- TELL ME.**

**Me- I can write a Harry Potter one. It will only be seven chapters long, I think, but it will be worth it. I PROMISE.**

**You- It had better be. AND DON'T TAKE FOREVER TO UPDATE THIS TIME.**

**Right, I'm going to get cracking then. Four more chapters (not including this one), a Harry Potter (Lily/James) story, and two twilight stories ASAP. Jeez, you guys are a tough crowd. I still love you though. When you read this, you get happy, and when I read your reviews, I get happy, so let's try to complete that circle. Kthnxbai.**

_Spoiled_

Will tossed and turned in his hammock, trying to find the sleep that usually came easily to him. This just put him in an even sourer mood.

How had he managed to lose to Mademoiselle Bennet?

Surely he let her win unconsciously.

Yes, that made sense. There was no other way that a woman could beat him at his own craft.

But why on earth would he let her win?

She is no ordinary woman. She needs to be caged. Letting her win would do nothing but stoke her fiery stubbornness.

Almost as much as it stoked his flaming temper.

And that look of triumph on her face. The way her eyes sparkled with delight. The way that her creamy skin flushed.

No, giving her that victory was dangerous for him. He should not be thinking of such things. Fool! He chided himself. The lot of the Bennets are the worst kind of people.

He turned to face the other side in his hammock and shut his eyes tight.

At last he moaned in exasperation. He would take a walk; that would clear his head. He had always loved the quiet nighttime sea.

He stretched and got out of his hammock, weaving his way around the hammocks of other slumbering men. At last he reached the door and continued through the ship until he emerged onto the deck. The sea was quiet and as black as the night. He inhaled the pure air.

For the first time in a while, he smiled. Then he began to make his way to the bow of the ship, his favorite spot.

But when he arrived, he noticed that something else had beaten him to the location. He squinted in the darkness, but was unable to make out anything but the shadowy form of a human.

"Hello?" he asked cautiously. The form turned around.

"Monsieur?" it asked.

Darcy groaned internally. There was only one person who that voice could belong to.

"What are you doing out at this hour, Mademoiselle?" he asked.

"Most likely the same as you, Fitzwilliam," she responded in a miffed tone.

"Satanic rituals?" he asked. "I'm afraid you assume incorrectly. I was simply making my rounds."

"If one of us worshipped the devil, it would not be me," responded Elizabeth. "For I'd think that his son would be far more obligated to show his respects."

"Never in my life-" spluttered Darcy. But he stopped speaking and took a breath to compose himself before he finished the sentence.

"Never in your life has somebody dared to expose you for the roach that you truly are?" suggested Elizabeth with a rogue smirk.

"How dare you pretend that you are blameless? I've never been more disgusted!" he thundered.

Elizabeth stared at him coldly. "You're a fool to believe that my family is wicked, and you're a fool to assume that because of one event you are the blameless party."

Will didn't know how to respond. After a moment of tense silence, Elizabeth finally directed her gaze towards the front of the ship.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" she asked without turning around.

Will sighed. For the second time, he was defeated by Mademoiselle Bennet's hand. He walked to the end of the ship and stood silently next to her.

"I was infuriated by this afternoon," he said honestly. Normally he would have lied, but for some absurd reason the truth escaped before he could edit it. Not that it mattered. Elizabeth had a way of seeing through him.

"I'm puzzled," she said after a moment.

"Why?" he asked, humoring her.

"Why is the great Fitzwilliam so perturbed by a single defeat?" she asked, looking at him this time. "Has he never been defeated?"

"Never," he responded. But then an image of his father speaking with Mr. Wickham flashed through his thoughts. "Conventionally," he added.

"And now he has not only been beaten, but been beaten by someone so lowly as myself. He shudders to think of the teasing that he will have to endure and the doubts of his authority. Oh dear, what a tragedy," she cooed.

"Why have you taken it into your head to be an unparalleled tormentor?" he asked.

"Because your performance has been admirable, but your swollen head does not deceive me," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Your true thoughts are obvious, though your words are those of a gentleman. You are a pretentious brat, spoiled by your father."

"_Spoiled!_" cried Darcy. "What gave you that idea?"

"You're arrogant and mean," said Elizabeth indignantly. "And think that you can get away with it just because you're the captain's son!"

"Are you blind?" cried Darcy. "My father does not treat me as most fathers would treat their son! He didn't even make me first mate!"

There. He said it. He had been dying to lament those words ever since bloody Wickham was chosen. But now he had just screamed them to the heavens and at blasted Elizabeth Bennet.

The Mademoiselle looked a little taken aback, but responded just as stubbornly in a far quieter voice, "At least Mr. Wickham is amiable and fair."

It took all of Darcy's composure to avoid barking out a bitter laugh. "Whatever charms Mr. Wickham has played on you, you have fallen helplessly like every other girl," he said.

"Now you slander?" she asked, although she had turned a bit pink.

"I've known George Wickham even longer than I've known Charles," he said stiffly. "His father was a poor, kindly tradesman that my father aided and befriended. When Mr. Wickham, Sr. died, my father felt obligated to take his son as one of us. He brought him to where I was being schooled, and we grew up in the same household. I've seen him mature from an arrogant child to a lying man with my own eyes. It is hardly slander to warn you that you are not the first victim of his charm."

Elizabeth watched him wordlessly. "You Darcys are a strange folk," she said at last.

"How so?" asked Will, taken aback at how quickly she changed their topic of conversation.

"You are an arrogant lot, yet you take in the sons of poor merchants," she mused. "And then you call them liars and degrade their persons."

"If Mr. Wickham is your only example, then I must protest that label," said Darcy.

"This ship as well," said Elizabeth.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Darcy.

"Who takes it into their head to name a pirate ship, a vessel of death and sin, _Our Lady Love_?"

"My mother and father loved each other more than anything. They christened this ship after that love."

"And where is your mother now?" she asked curiously.

"Dead," said Darcy flatly.

"Oh," she gasped, covering her mouth in shock. "Please forgive my insensitivity."

"You are forgiven," he said without thinking.

"Has she passed recently?" asked Elizabeth.

"No. She did not survive giving birth to my sister, Georgiana, sixteen years ago. My grief passed a long while ago."

"I'm sorry that you had to be put through that," murmured Elizabeth. She looked up at him with a solemn face, eyes so innocent and bright that Darcy felt his heart lurch.

"I'll go back to bed now," she said, walking away and disappearing into the bellows of the ship. Darcy just watched her, frozen in place, and noticing with shame at how he longed to be beside her, to be able to continue talking to her."

"Stop it, Will!" he angrily reminded himself.


	9. Making Land

**AN: Thanks for all the reviews favorites and alerts! They make me do a little dance. Also, several of you sweetly pointed out that I already mentioned that Mrs. Darcy died, and my witty response is as follows: WHOOPS. MY BAD. It's been a while and I forget which details I've mentioned and which I haven't. But I digress, Love you all, please read, review, and love!**

**And now: the longest chapter to date (by a long shot)**

_Making Land_

Another week passed and Will found himself making a hobby of avoiding Mademoiselle Bennet. "You hate her," he reminded himself when he realized that his walk was gravitating towards her room of its own accord. He would then walk away, feeling a bit dejected despite himself.

When the ship was finally due to make land, he rejoiced. He had a day to explore a port city and physically space himself away from _her_. He endured the tethering of the ship and the lowering of the gangplank with impatience of a magnitude that he had never felt before. At last he could disembark from the ship and lose himself in the colorful and aromatic marketplace set up a few paces past the marina.

"Fitzwilliam?" asked his father as Will prepared to walk off the ship. He had materialized near his right shoulder without Will noticing.

"Yes, father?" he asked, turning around with a start.

"I would like you to find a trustworthy guard for Mademoiselle Bennet," he said with his customary grave tone. "She must be kept on the ship for both our interests and her own safety."

"And that Mr. Collins?" Will reminded him.

"Keep him as he's been," said his father, not meeting his eyes, but gazing off the side of the ship into the lively marketplace. Will walked away with a trudge in his gait.

Will combed the ship for Charles. He was the only trustworthy man that came to mind, and though he felt guilty about taking advantage of his friend's goodwill, he felt that having Charles keep Mademoiselle Bennet company would be the best thing for her.

"Charles!" he cried when he found his friend at last.

"It's good to see you looking chipper," observed his friend with a toothy grin.

"Do you have any plans for our stop?" asked Will, hoping to make his request seem less abusive with an introduction of the subject.

"Just to wander, maybe engage in a good conversation," said Charles.

"Then would you perhaps do me a large favor?" inquired Will.

"What is it?" asked Charles.

"My father has asked me to find somebody trustworthy to keep watch over Mademoiselle Bennet and Mr. Collins. You're the only other person on this ship that I trust. If it would not be too much trouble, would you be willing to stay on the ship with her?" Will waited anxiously for Charles' response.

"Absolutely. It won't be any trouble," said Charles without hesitation. "Mademoiselle Bennet is a fine being to converse with, so my day shall not be lost."

Will was flooded with gratitude. "Thank you," he said.

"It is not problem, William. I am happy to lend my assistance in her protection," said Charles, still smiling.

"And I still thank you," said Will. "I would not want any harm to befall her on my account."

Charles nodded and Will bounced on the soles of his feet for a moment before he said, "I suppose I must bid you good day and be off. Have fun guarding the Mademoiselle," he said with a touch of sarcasm on the latter clause. Charles laughed.

"I shall," he said. Then he looked thoughtful.

"Perhaps you should petition your father to buy her a new dress. The one that she has on now is dreadfully dirty, and the skirt is quite torn." He looked concerned.

Will nodded. "That is a good idea, I will ask."

And he took his new detour to his father, who readily agreed that a new dress was in order. "Go find a kindly tailor shop and see to that," said the senior Darcy, and with that, he strode off the ship. Will followed him after several seconds, but took care to turn the opposite way that his father had into the crowd.

It was no trouble for Will to find a shop, but he realized after he had selected a navy blue material that he had no way to size it for her properly. Much to his embarrassment, the tailor running the shop swooped on him.

"What would you like, young sir? A jacket, a suit?"

"Oh, no," said Will, a bit taken aback. "A dress, actually." He immediately regretted his words when the tailor blanched, though the man did his best to hide his surprise with a cough.

"Not for me!" cried Will in an attempt to clarify his request. "For my… for my fiancée." He didn't know what possessed him to call her his fiancée. No matter, it would work.

"Certainly," said the tailor with a little wink that made Will feel exceedingly uncomfortable. "And would she be about your size?"

Will was annoyed at what the man was suggesting.

"No," he said irately. "She's-"

"Perhaps it would be better if you brought her here, then?" asked the tailor, leaving an unspoken, "_if she even exists…_" clearly tacked on.

Will was angry. This man was insolent and improper. But he could not make a scene. Quickly, he replied the first lie that came to mind.

"I cannot, because I wished to make this a complete surprise. She does not like it when I spend money on her. Now, listen as I describe her, and you will make a simple, decent dress that would fit somebody around her size comfortably."

The tailor nodded, frightened at his coldly angry and sharp words, and pulled out a sketchpad and a piece of charcoal to show that he was ready to take notes on what Will had to say.

"Now," he said, "she stands a little more than a head shorter than me…" and thus he went on to describe her proportions as best he could with as much dignity as he could salvage. He blushed a lot, but thankfully the tailor was too busy jotting down notes to notice.

"And could you please have this ready by tonight at the latest?" asked Will when he had finished.

"I can have it ready in a few hours, if you like," said the tailor. "Come pick up the dress a little before dusk."

"I shall," said Will. He flicked the tailor a small piece of silver and said, "Here's for your services so far. There will be more waiting when I return for my order."

The tailor nodded eagerly and immediately barked a few orders to his assistants. They would have the dress ready as fast as they could make humanly possible for this strange, albeit rich, man.

* * *

Charles had thought of just standing outside of Mademoiselle Bennet's door, but he did not take to that idea for very long. She would be bored with her company, and he did not want to seem a disagreeable guard. In another life, he would want very much to be her friend. It was a shame that they had to meet in such star-crossed circumstances.

Lightly, he knocked on her door.

"Come in?" quipped a suddenly eager female voice. Charles smiled.

"Hello, my dear mademoiselle," he said cheerfully, walking into her room and closing the door. Mr. Collins harrumphed in the corner and regarded him with a contemptuous stare. Apparently he only groveled to those he perceived to be his superiors. It was undeniably rude, but also quite refreshing to Charles to not hear any of his buzzing in his ears. Even though Mr. Collins was sure to be a very nice man, sometimes he could be quite exhausting.

"Hello, Charles," said Elizabeth, mirroring his cheer. She looked pleased to see a new face.

They chattered the day away. Charles told her about how his father had been a tradesman that seemed to know exactly what needed to be done in every aspect of his business. Soon the business had grown, and now the Bingley name was associated with a moderate fortune.

"But if you are wealthy, why are you a pirate?" Mademoiselle Bennet had asked.

Charles had shaken his head at this. "The trade business was not my calling. I went in pursuit of adventure, and I followed one of my dearest friends to his father's ship after my own father died. My two sisters have been living on the income that I hired a trusted steward to maintain. They are in the care of my friend's aunt, who is also the caretaker of his sister. But when I tire of this life, or find the right woman, I expect I will go back to regular business and find a nice estate in England to call my home."

"To live happily every after?" Elizabeth had asked.

"So I hope," chuckled Charles.

"Am I too bold to guess that Fitzwilliam was the friend you followed into this life?" she had asked after a moment of thought.

"Not at all," Charles had said. "I fear I must have forgotten to mention him by name. I suppose we've been friends so long, I've forgotten how unaccustomed some might be to our acquaintance."

They had drifted into another subject after that, but Elizabeth couldn't help but wonder what this man saw in Darcy. Perhaps he was very much like Jane: he could not think ill of anybody. While considering this, she found herself wishing very much that Jane could meet Charles. Had Charles not been a pirate under the command of Captain Darcy, there would not be a single scruple for their courtship, and they really did deserve each other.

At last the sun went down, and Charles insisted on leaving her to her sleep. He said that he would be right out the door, just in case another man came with ill intentions. Sad to end the only truly enjoyable day that she had had on this ship, she rather begrudgingly agreed, but not before having him promise to teach her some of the finer points of fencing with the Colonel, and tell her more of his friendship with Darcy. Before she could raise the bargain in her favor once more, Charles quickly bid her adieu and left.

She stretched and made to sit down, not at all tired. She absentmindedly picked at the letters to Jane that were scratching her beneath her corset. Suddenly, she had an idea.

She all but ran to the desk and scribbled another note to Jane. Impatiently, she waited for the ink to dry. She took all of the letters in her hand, making sure that she could easily conceal them within her skirts should somebody pass her by on the ship.

Hoping Charles was away from his post at the door or sleeping, she cautiously peeked outside into the thin hallway of the ship. Charles was not in sight. Perhaps he had had an excursion to the port. After all, she had been keeping him all day. She hesitated before taking another step outside her door. This would hurt Charles. He would think he had failed as a guard. But if she only mailed the letters, no harm could come of it. Thus resolved, she quickly stepped out into the hall.

She crouched at the foot of the stairs to the upper deck and debated turning back. She had been exceedingly lucky to not meet anybody on the below-decks of the ship, but certainly somebody would spot her up there? Or in the market? She wasn't very inconspicuous in her current state of dress, and her accent would fool no one.

Yet bravely, she plowed on. She took a hesitant step onto the first stair. It creaked slightly and she nearly fell backwards from her sudden bout of panic. Even more cautiously than the first time, she raised her foot to take another step.

Then, she felt a heavy, undoubtedly masculine hand on her shoulder.

She didn't look back. She froze, not even able to summon a feeble squeak at being caught. She couldn't breathe. Whatever this ruffian wanted, she would try her best to resist. But she knew it would do no good. Her heart accelerated, and after that very long, tense moment of discovery, she was pulled by her snared shoulder back to the deck and roughly turned around.

"Mademoiselle! What on earth were you thinking?" cried Charles.

Relief, then extreme guilt washed over her as she finally processed that her new friend, and not some mad buffoon was trapping her.

"I…" she now really felt her guilt. Before she knew it, she was blubbering the truth: "I have been writing letters to my dear sister Jane since my capture, and I wished to send her my letters. She would worry so if I didn't, and she is my dearest friend and most beloved family!" Elizabeth sniffled, unable to help herself. Thinking of how much Jane really would be worrying was distressing, and the images of Jane crying conjured in her head were infectious.

"There, there mademoiselle," said Charles a bit awkwardly, although he sounded like he very sincerely wished to comfort her. "Would you prefer me to send these letters? That way nobody would be guilty of anything." She began to thank him profusely, but he fidgeted and interrupted her after he suddenly looked alarmed, "Providing, of course, that I may _read_ these letters first to ensure that you are not attempting to smuggle critical information to your father." He looked sterner than she had ever even thought to imagine him.

"Certainly," said Elizabeth, understanding that this was a favorable and necessary compromise. She handed Charles her letters.

He read them and his eyes widened at several passages (she assumed that those were the ones concerning him). After he pronounced, looking a bit dazed, that the letters were innocent in nature, she cleared her throat slightly.

"Charles," she said, wondering if she might put her sudden idea into action, "I understand that I have stretched your kindness quite far, but if possible, it would be the greatest pleasure to me if you were to grant me one more small favor."

"It depends on the favor, Mademoiselle Bennet," he said.

"May I tell my sister where our next landing will be so that I may correspond with her? I promise that nothing ill will come of it. She is a sweet girl, and she would respect any desires of mine for her not to tell another soul."

Charles looked incredibly deep in consideration. She wished he would say yes and tell her. She was perfectly honest in her request. She did not desire for any blood to be shed on her hands, as what would most definitely happen if she were to reveal the ship's location to her father.

At last, Charles said: "I will. But if your letter does us in, there will be hell to pay. For all of us." He sounded so uncharacteristically serious that Elizabeth was only further convinced to make Jane promise. After Charles told her the name of the town, she ran back to her room and added a brief postscript. Then, after she had shown it to him, and he had approved, Charles took her letters, and went off to post them.

Happy with how the events had finally turned in her favor, she returned to her room and fell into a peaceful sleep.

**AN: Oh! I almost forgot! I will be starting two more stories later next week (mayhaps sooner) as promised. One will be Lily/James, the other Alice/Jasper. I also have several other ideas, including one for Wuthering Heights (Catherine/Heathcliff, of course). But this may be delayed as I promised to write my friend a story for her birthday and I also have a novel in progress... busy busy busy. But there's an update of my writing life. Toodles till next time!**


	10. Tolerance

**AN: I'm not even going to attempt to figure out how long it's taken me to update. I think I'll just say that it's been sufficiently long that you might need to reread a few chapters just to figure out whats going on in this story. I know I had to... **

**But never fear! The next chapter is one of the two chapters that I have been looking forward to writing and posting, so that will most likely be up soon.**

**In addition, I finally got around to fully planning out my Lily/James story. I think I'll be able to have the prologue up today, if I can manage it.**

**And lastly, if you can't get enough of my writing (for whatever reason), I did get a FictionPress account, the link for which is on my profile. I've already posted about fifteen chapters of my novel-in-progress, a short story, and an essay. My stories aren't as popular as this one, and I would really appreciate some more feedback.**

**Thank you for your continued reading of this story, even though you have probably long forgotten the plot. I love you all!**

* * *

_Tolerance_

The next morning, Elizabeth received a knock on her door. Curious, she answered: "Come in."

Much to her surprise, it was none other than The Fitzwilliam who entered her room. He was carrying a large, flat parcel. It looked suspiciously like the kind of box that her new dresses would come in, but she didn't think that she would be receiving anything like _that_ from the people on this ship.

She watched him with slightly narrowed eyes. He cleared his throat awkwardly and shimmied the lid off the box.

"My father has asked me to present this to you myself," he said, obviously quite uncomfortable.

Elizabeth went over to the parcel and lifted an elegant, navy blue dress from its wrappings. She took a moment to admire the generosity of the Darcy family.

And then she smiled gratefully at the chance to have _clean_, mercifully _clean_,clothing for the first time in ages.

"Thank you, Fitzwilliam," she said, lowering the dress and looking at him. She still kept the patronizing way that she always pronounced his Christian name. But she was happy.

"You are welcome, Mademoiselle Bennet," he said. A hint of a grin flashed across his face before he processed what his muscles were doing. Quickly, he stopped the offending expression.

"Now, if you'll excuse me…" he said, turning promptly and leaving.

"Oh," he said, suddenly shifting back into the doorway. "If Mr. Collins would please come with me, my father has decided to remove him to another room. He feels that the lady should have some privacy."

Elizabeth was relieved. Collins got up and walked out with The Fitzwilliam. She quickly shut the door, and modestly changed into her new dress in the corner, hoping against all hopes that nobody came knocking on her door until she had her new dress on.

After half a letter to Jane, she decided that she might as well go onto the deck and see if she might spar with Charles. According to her porthole, the weather was very fair.

She noticed that she had stopped hoping to never again run into The Fitzwilliam. Perhaps she had finally developed immunity to his stiff rudeness.

Hmmm, "The Fitzwilliam." She rather liked that. It suited him.

A few weeks passed themselves with occasional fencing matches (Elizabeth beat both Charles and the Colonel in only three tries –she suspected that their pleas of "You're a lady" were simply meant to stop her from discovering that it was them that were the ladies), a few turns around the deck, a handful of letters to Jane, and the exponentially increasing words from The Fitzwilliam. The first time she had passed him, he had nodded stiffly. The second time he had gone so far as to say a cordial, "Hello." He was stuck on the 'hello' for a few more times, before tacking on a "beautiful weather, isn't it?" and then it took another handful for him to say something interesting. The first day of actual effort he had asked her if she liked the ship.

"Perhaps I might have if I had not been forced onto it," she responded.

That effectively ended any prospect of conversation.

Slowly, though, he was gaining confidence in his queries. It was almost as though he was afraid of her. But that was ridiculous. The Great Fitzwilliam, afraid of the Mademoiselle? She could laugh aloud at the idea. In fact, she did, earning a very puzzled look from Charles.

One, night, however, sleep refused to come to her. She decided to take a walk, and ran into The Fitzwilliam sitting in the crow's nest.

"My apologies," she said, doing her best to imitate a maid. "I did not know that Fitzwilliam has territory."

He half scoffed, half laughed at this response. "Fitzwilliam does not, actually," he said. "Fitzwilliam has places in which he hides."

"Hides from what?" asked Elizabeth, sitting to face him, interested.

Now Darcy winced regretfully. Clearly, he hadn't intended to admit that he liked hiding. Elizabeth smiled innocently while his brow puckered. She waited for him to work out what he wanted to say.

"Never mind," he said at last. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

"Everybody, then?" she probed.

His eyebrows raised in clear shock. "Not everybody," he said.

"And especially me," she mused, as if she had not heard him. Her nose was now only several inches from his, and her eyes were staring into his, giving him the alarming feeling that she could see right through him.

But an even more alarming feeling was now coursing through Will. He found himself wishing to kiss the mademoiselle's dangerously close lips. He focused on her eyes, and hoped that he would not cave into that ridiculous impulse.

"Am I right?" she asked then, drawing back. Will breathed an internal sigh of relief.

"Unfortunately, no, Mademoiselle," he said. "I do not seek to avoid everybody. Only those who need to be avoided."

"Such as?" she pressed.

He pursed his lips, but did not answer.

"I know what you mean," she said sagely. "I have five of my own sisters, I know what it's like to be surrounded on all sides with no way out."

This response shocked him. She really did see right through him, every time. He had no idea how. Was he muttering his thoughts under his breath? Or could she truly read his mind?

"The Fitzwilliam is speechless," she said.

"Unfortunately," he muttered.

She eyed him for a moment before making motions to climb back onto the deck.

"I'm told we're to make land again soon," she said nonchalantly, gingerly placing her foot on the top rung of the rigging.

"I only avoid people for good reason, you know," The Fitzwilliam said suddenly.

"Every reason, you mean?" she teased.

"Not at all," he said stiffly.

"Then why?"

He neither answered nor looked at her. She went back up to sit across from him again.

"Please tell me," she said softly.

He sighed and the words flowed from his mouth without permission. "I only hide from people that annoy me."

"Such as _moi_?" she teased.

He weakly smiled a crooked smile. "Such as… hmmm…" he tilted his head back closed his eyes. "Charles' sister," he said.

"His sister?" asked Elizabeth, raising her eyebrows

"There is no family resemblance. Caroline Bingley is a creature that was spawned in the most hellish abyss of London high society," he responded gruffly.

"And what makes her so detestable?" asked Elizabeth, leaning forward with a smirk.

Darcy chuckled. "She is loudly operating under quite a false impression."

"And that is?"

"She believes that she is but a word away from an engagement with yours truly."

Elizabeth giggled. "How you must flirt with other women. I can only imagine the effort it would take on your part to give someone that impression."

"She flirts enough for myself and ten additional suitors. I simply sit, avoid eye contact and attempt to read."

"Fitzwilliam Darcy," said Elizabeth in an exaggerated sigh. "The heartbreaker of London-town."

He chuckled. "I swear, it is only due to her overactive imagination that she fancies I will make her an offer. In fact, the last time I saw her, she followed me everywhere and never stopped talking to me or about me. I spoke to her in monosyllabic replies that bordered on rude, and she did not relent. Even when I sat down to compose a simple letter to my sister, Georgiana, she sat herself right down next to me and constantly told me how fine a letter that I must be writing. It was only out of respect for Charles that I did not slap her."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "The Fitzwilliam is a gentleman," she teased.

"After hearing that, you must know full well that I am not."

"Only a gentleman could withstand slapping the woman that you have just described."

"How are you so sure?"

"I am well acquainted with the overwhelming aggravation that is embodied in obsessed women," said Elizabeth.

He shot her a questioning look.

"You would utterly detest my family," she replied, raising her eyebrows.

He looked at her. "Why your family in particular?"

"Mary would bore you, Kitty and Lydia would give you a headache, and my mother would not let you go until you had made an offer to Jane." She shrugged.

"I see," said Will. "But I suppose I could tolerate them if I had to."

Oh dear lord. He did _not_ just imply-

"Why would you need to?" she was starting to smirk again.

Damn it all to hell.

"If I should ever happen to make their acquaintance," he said quickly in an intentionally gruff voice.

The smirk did not go away, but she did not pester him. He wanted her to, just to give him the excuse to say something. He was on the verge of just telling her everything, just from pure exasperation at himself, and she probably knew. And she waited. Will decided that it would be best to just not open his mouth again.

Thus they watched the sunrise and left in silence.


	11. PS

**AN: Did you forget about me? I wouldn't blame you if you had... **

**I'm sad to say that I put fanfiction on the backburner for a while. First my excuse was finishing my novel (and to that end I successfully won nanowrimo- a challenge that I highly recommend for aspiring novelists). But I finished that in November, and have been editing ever since. It's complete now, and I'm posting it on Fictionpress as we speak- .com/u/778220/9emilylime9 - and this one isn't a work in progress, so I update it ever day or so. So far I don't have any reviews, so if you like my writing and a good story, you would really make me happy by checking it out. **

**And I'm going to try and finish this story, if anything. I promise. It will happen.**

_PS_**  
**

Charles was glad to finally be able to stretch his legs on land. Though he did love sailing, he often missed having the ability to just walk on a path without the occasional pitching of the ground, and the constant spray of the sea. Plants and shade, too, were nice, as well as the cawing of creatures other than gulls.

So, breathing in the crisp air, Charles walked through the bustling port. He purchased an apple with some of his cut of the Bennet treasure, and slowly but surely wormed his way around the stalls, ending at the post.

There, he inquired after any letters that had been sent to him, and received a parcel from his sister Louisa, as well as a letter from Caroline. He opened Caroline's letter and snorted. He'd been away at sea for months, and all she enquired from him was if Mr. Darcy had expressed any lamentations of her company. She sent not even an "How are you?" If she was anything, the woman was obvious.

He saw about retrieving Will's mail as well. Knowing the poor brooding man, he would be too caught up in his own thoughts to remember that people would send him letters. Caroline had sent him three. Charles debated doing his friend another kindness by throwing them to the gulls for him.

Charles had almost forgotten the incident with the mademoiselle the last time they had made land. He stopped walking in the door frame of the office, before turning on his heel, doubtful that Jane Bennet had written to her sister, but optimistic that he might be able to bring Mademoiselle Elizabeth some good news.

"Are there any letters for Elizabeth Bennet?" he asked. The postmaster cocked an eyebrow, but turned to look. Much to Charles' surprise, he returned with a letter.

"Thank you again," Charles said, giving him a shilling for his trouble. Then he strode away, meandering back to the ship.

As he walked he examined the envelope that contained the letter from the elder Mademoiselle Bennet. The hand that had written the address was lovely, with an effortless grace in the calligraphy. Charles admired it, as he walked, and nearly ran into an old sea wife's shop.

He was curious, if anything, to see what she might have written in response to Elizabeth's letters. He recalled those letters mentioning himself several times, and wondered if this Jane Bennet might write as favorably back.

He shifted the letter in his hands. Perhaps he could read it. After all, it was his duty to ensure that nothing of a dangerous nature to either party was allowed in this correspondence. With that excuse in mind, he broke the seal of the letter and read it:

My Dearest Lizzie,

On receiving your letters, you could not have found a more happy sister. We thought for sure you were lost with my father's ship, or lost to poor pirates, and never to be seen again. My father was quite distraught, and you can only imagine my mother's despair in losing her second most eligible daughter to the likes of an unholy band of men.

I am glad that you are well, and that you have found what sounds to be such favorable company. When I first read that it was the Darcy family that had taken you, I must confess that that news did little to ease my fears. But the men that you wrote of sound like proper gentlemen, and for that I and my mother are eternally relieved. And you could not hide my mother's delight in hearing that both you and Mr. Collins were alive and well together. I fear that she is convinced that your time together will foster an attachment, and that she will finally be able to boast to Madame Lucas that she has a daughter married and settled.

I know not how you managed to write me, but if you might manage it again, you could not know just how much more news would please me, if it only states that you are alive and well. Please write soon, if you are able.

Eternal Love,

Jane

Charles smiled as he read the letter. Never before had he met a woman that was half so considerate and amiable as this one sounded, even in her writing. Compared to Caroline, this woman was a saint. As he read, he had pictured an angel, impossibly beautiful brow creased with genuine worry about her sister's wellbeing, and affectionately staving off the more selfish intentions of the mother. Elizabeth had even mentioned her beauty in her letters, he remembered, as well as described this kindness in her disposition.

Charles sighed aloud. If only he might meet this woman. He wanted so badly to make her acquaintance, just to see if such an angel could truly exist.

He resealed the letter and refolded it, not intending to hide that the had read it, but to at least appear less meddlesome and controlling to the mademoiselle, for he very much wished for her to continue her praise of him to Jane.

"A letter from Mademoiselle Jane has arrived," he announced to Mademoiselle Bennet's closed door as he knocked.

She opened the door hurriedly, eyes wide and breathless.

"Really?" she said, snatching it from Charles' hands. Then she remembered herself.

"I apologize, but you can understand my eagerness," she said, still breathless. She examined the letter. "But why has it already been opened?"

"I had to ensure that there was not dangerous information being passed on her end," said Charles. "I hope you may forgive me, but I felt obliged to for the safety of myself and my friends." Charles internally winced at his words, though they were half true.

Mademoiselle did not probe further, however, she merely nodded and said, "Of course I may. Thank you for being such an attentive friend." She kissed him on the cheek and Charles turned red before remembering that that was a French custom, not an indication of an attachment.

When Elizabeth had finished reading, she ran over to the desk, seized the quill, and scribbled a reply to her sister, before bundling up the letters that she had continued to write and bringing them back to him.

He looked at the stack in her hand hesitantly.

"_Please_, Charles?" she said.

"I really don't know if I'm allowed-" but he felt his resolve crumbling, though it was not from Elizabeth's pleading, but from Jane's wish to keep up their correspondence. No harm had befallen them the first time, after all.

Charles bit his lip, looking from her, to the letters in her hand, and then towards the porthole, where the abundant people on the docks were striding and milling about.

Elizabeth stuck out her bottom lip in her best expression of destitute pleading.

After a moment, Charles sighed.

"Your wish is my command," he said. He held out his hand for the letters.

As he once again made his way to the post, he rifled through the stack of letters, ensuring that they did not carry any dangerous information, although, he could no longer say that that was his primary motivation for wishing to read through the letters. He found himself rereading several references to Jane's beauty and kind demeanor, and once again found himself picturing that lovely angel, forehead creased with worry as she sat at her writing desk. He then noticed that his feet had doubled their pace in an effort to ease this woman's pain.

He made himself slow again, and considered his new mindset. He had believed himself in love several times before, though each time he had had but few days at port to spend with his new beloved. Yet, this time felt different. He was not falling for a dainty smile, and a graceful demeanor, but for the kind nature and the eloquence with which this woman wrote. And if she were even half so pretty as her sister, he found that she would still bring him happiness for days on end.

The enquiring of the postman brought him out of his reverie.

"Oh… oh yes. I would like to send these letters, here," he said, putting the bundle onto the table. But then a sudden thought seized him.

"But first, may I borrow a quill and some ink?"

The postman shrugged and lent him the supplies. Quickly, Charles wrote down the proper address. And then, feeling as though his very move should be illegal, he opened Elizabeth's hurriedly scrawled letter from earlier.

Then, at the bottom, he picked up the quill and, seized with sudden courage, wrote:

PS…


	12. The Proposal

**AN: Well... I suppose I could have taken longer. Apologies... I've been swamped with college searching and reading Game of Thrones (So. Freaking. Good.). And I will be swamped with college applying and book and manga writing and homework and everything in the months to come. So we shall see. But in the meantime, you can check out my FictionPress account (which I've been putting my book up on, in case you're wondering what my own characters are like), it's got the same username as this FanFic. Once the manga gets put on the Interwebz, I'll have a link to that, as well. It's going to be awesome. And lastly, you guys can follow me on Tumblr, which is faithisafineinvention. Please follow me. You guys are really cool, and I have seven followers at the moment, all of whom I know in real life.**

**Thanks for sticking with this story :D.**

* * *

"Ha!" Elizabeth cried. "Once again at the mercy of a female!"

Richard glanced rather sourly at the sword at his chest, as if to double-check his defeat.

"I suppose I should be used to this by now," he said, sighing. Then he smiled. "Perhaps you should begin instructing us instead of us instructing you."

"I would never teach you any of my secrets, for if I did, no ship in the world would know what had hit them."

"That's the idea," Richard replied. Elizabeth laughed.

"I say," he said suddenly. "Unless mine eyes deceive me, we have a new taker.

Elizabeth turned to follow his gaze, and her eyebrows shot up. It appeared that Mr. Collins had suffered to finally leave his confinement. And when he saw her looking, he cheerfully waved and made to walk in their direction.

"Prepare yourself," she said, pursing her lips.

"You don't need to tell me that twice," Richard replied. "One of the lads pretended all he spoke was that clicking African tongue so that he wouldn't have his ear talked off every time he brought that little devil food."

Elizabeth giggled. "Alas, if only I had thought of that. They locked me in a room with him for days, as you might recall, and I wasn't allowed to leave. He only stopped talking when he started to snore."

Richard fell to his knees. "Oh forgive us all, my lady. I beg you on account of all those on this ship that you not wreak terrible revenge in your wrath."

This made Elizabeth laugh more. "Rise, loyal sir," she said. "You need not fear."

Richard was smiling as he made a show of slowly standing and bowing with a flourish.

"Forgive me, sweet Mademoiselle, but I am afraid I do not understand the joke," said a very unwelcome voice behind her. She turned to face Mr. Collins with a slight groan.

"Richard was simply demonstrating for me the mannerisms he used when he met Her Majesty," Elizabeth replied. Richard's eyes widened, and she threw him her most innocent-looking smile.

"Her Majesty, why you cannot mean Queen Victoria, herself, no surely not," Collins exclaimed. "I once had the pleasure of kissing her hand, if I may be permitted to boast of my own meager accomplishments. She was dressed in such chaste richness, that I couldn't help but fall to my knees in awe, much as you demonstrated to Mademoiselle Bennet just now. What a gallant day it was, I must say. Of course, she most like paid me no mind. I am a mere subject of hers, although my skills in finances are unparalleled, as is my waltz…"

Richard made a point of throwing Elizabeth a withering look. She smiled back sweetly.

"… Though they say that you are a Colonel, and I understand that your father must be very generous to the Crown for purchasing your commission. You must have had the absolute grace of her presence at a meeting of ranking soldiers, perhaps. I can think of no other reason that you might be given the chance to behold Her Majesty. Myself, I was invited for virtue of the life I had forged for myself with my skills in finance, and the great friendships I had found in my employer, Monsieur Bennet, Elizabeth's esteemed father. He is a terse man, to be sure, and I quite admire him for that. And he is quite vocal about when he requires my presence, and when he does not. He seems to seldom require my assistance, as well. And his lovely wife is very accommodating in the event that I must be kept waiting. She hears often of my accomplishments, and quite fancies me a son-in-law already, I am inclined to believe. Do tell me, good sir, why you deigned to resign your honest service in order to pursue such a heinous life of crime and violence."

Richard started to laugh. "Oh, I am afraid you are quite mistaken. I was never a colonel, I am simply a pirate, as you seem to enjoy reminding me."

Collins looked very confused. "Then why do most on this ship refer to you as 'Colonel,' if that is not your proper title? That is most perplexing."

"It is a nickname, nothing more," Richard replied. Collins still appeared puzzled, but he did not inquire further. Instead, much to Elizabeth's surprise, he turned to her, smiling in a toadish way.

"I actually ventured here to request that Mademoiselle Elizabeth join me in a promenade around the deck," he said. Richard looked triumphant.

"I am afraid I must decline, Mr. Collins, lest I insult Richard's kindness in educating me on the proper terms of swordsmanship," she said. Collins looked as taken-aback as she had hoped he would.

"Swordmanship?" he cried. "Why would a lady such as yourself ever require this… this unladylike skill?"

"I prefer to be able to defend my own honor," Elizabeth replied. A roguish smile crept onto her face. "Perhaps you would prefer to educate me in your own manner, as clearly I have much to learn. I do not suppose I shall ever surpass skill such as yours."

"I suppose not," Collins replied. "Come, then, allow me to instruct you. Here is where you hold the sword." He picked up a wooden cutlass of his own, holding it gingerly. "And make sure to not be in any danger of hurting yourself with your own swing."

"Oh, I am learning already," Elizabeth said, rolling her eyes. Richard hid a smirk behind his hand. Collins appeared to notice neither, judging by the way he glowed, as though she had just given him legitimate praise.

"Your advice has inspired me. I think I may understand proper swordplay, now," Elizabeth said. "Perhaps you ought to show me how it is done. I would like to challenge you in a mock duel."

"There is much more for you to learn before you can be allowed to fight a master," Collins said.

"But I have often heard that the best method of learning comes from practice against those far superior."

"Yes, I recall that," Collins said. He considered this for a moment. "And perhaps once you fight properly, you might be recalled from your desire to learn in realization of the very real dangers of a man's play."

Elizabeth smirked. She allowed him to demonstrate the proper beginning form- a very, very wrong one, from what her father had taught her- before beginning the fight. He was worse than she'd thought. It took her all of two blows to send his sword spinning out his hand, and have her own at his neck.

"Have I done well?" she asked. Collins licked his lips.

"Quite," he said. "Your form is terribly flawed, but it appears my instruction has somewhat helped you to understand."

She sighed and let her sword arm swing back to her side.

"And I do believe that that is quite enough instruction for today," Collins continued. "We would not wish to exhaust you, I do not think." He nodded at Richard. Richard raised an eyebrow.

"Mademoiselle, will you do me the honor of taking a tour about the ship with me?"

Elizabeth sighed. Richard seemed in no hurry to come to her rescue, it seemed. He most likely wanted revenge for earlier. As gracelessly as she could manage, she accepted. Collins beamed. She rolled her eyes, and sent a glare in Richard's general direction.

"Mademoiselle, I understand that you must be very afraid," Collins began. "I hope that my presence may help you feel more at ease. Savages and pirates are not suitable company for a lady. I admire your courage to even leave your quarters alone."

"Yes, I am grievously frightened in doing so," Elizabeth replied, fully aware that Mr. Collins appeared immune to sarcasm.

"And I know that your family must be terribly concerned for your safety, and honor," Collins continued. Elizabeth stopped short. Her stomach suddenly felt as though it was in a knot.

"And I cannot help but think how to put your troubles at ease, however it may be in my power." Without permission, Collins attempted to clasp her hand in two of his own. She wrenched it free instantly, but he did not seem fazed.

"Therefore, I would like to honor you with a request for your hand in marriage."

Elizabeth had known that this was where he was headed. She prided herself on her cool head and cutting wit. Her fingers itched to slap him good and hard, but she did not.

"And I am afraid I must decline, for you have absolutely nothing to recommend yourself to me, I am disgusted by the prospect of being your wife, and I have never liked you," she said.

But that solemn response did nothing to deter him.

"You need not bother playing games with my heart, Mademoiselle. I am quite aware that many young ladies such as yourself are wont to refuse a man that they truly mean to accept."

Elizabeth actually dropped her jaw at the audacity of his assumption.

Then she slapped him.

He staggered, a let out a little shriek.

"Mademoiselle Elizabeth, I am _astounded_ at your display of impropriety," he gasped, rubbing his cheek ruefully. His eyes were still glued to her face in a most disturbingly stubborn manner.

"Forgive me, Mr. Collins, I find that propriety is always courteously ignored whilst on pirate ships," she said through gritted teeth.

He harrumphed angrily and pursed his lips.

"Mademoiselle, I _will _speak to your father about this insult and unladylike behavior, and we _will_ be married."

She slapped him again, and he shrieked anew.

"Mademoiselle, I-"

"There is _no need_ for your continued attentions, Mr. Collins. I am quite decided, and I am afraid there is little you can say to my father regarding this matter," she hissed.

Then she slapped him again for good measure.

Flushed, and seething, she stalked back to her quarters, not in the mood to return to her sparring with Richard, and especially not in the mood to acknowledge Will's asking, "Are you alright?" on her way back. She left him confused and concerned, and she relished in that. Finally, she found her room, slammed the door, and locked it.

And when Will watched her leave, with her bright red face, and stomp in her step, he didn't get far before he ran into Mr. Collins angrily rubbing a very red cheek and grumbling about a marriage proposal, and how Mademoiselle Bennet was foolish in not accepting him.

When he heard this, a rage began building in his bones. It wasn't rage about anything logical, or within his own life. It was rage that this toad of a man had the audacity to request Elizabeth's hand in marriage. And further than that, it was rage that there might have been a chance that she could have accepted him.


End file.
